


BOMBSHELL FLUFFIES

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mech/Mech, Romance, fluffies, terrible pick-up lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: Drift returns for something he left behind on the Lost Light.  And in other data-feeds, we learn if Cybertronians can fart or if that’s just an urban myth.





	

Skids can only smirk at the white aft that wiggles back and forth in nervous anticipation as the prey comes into the AWOL third-in-command’s visual range.  He leans back and pops a few energon goodies as he watches a twitch travel over the white frame from the intensity of the concentration being placed upon the intended target.

Drift licks his chops.  He presses his face against the dirty grate to get just the right angle down into Swerve’s bar when Ratchet moved from his original position.  Humming to himself, he begins to plot his next approach to corner the grumpy target.  He scratches at an audio sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.  There is a popping sound from his vocalizer as he sets it to a lower register.

“Hey, baby.  Care to jump on the rocket and go for a long hard ride?”

“Do you have a metal-mesh patch ‘cause I just smacked my aft fallin’ over you.”  Drift snaps his fingers as he wiggles his optic ridges with a come-get-it-now smirk.

“Don’t worry sweet-spark.  Just lean back, pop that hatch, and let the ‘Master Mechanic’ work his magic to take care of that twitch that makes you quiver.”

“I got the fuse, you got the match?  Good!  ‘Cause it’s time to explode all over this universe!”

Drift sits back on his feet and crosses his arms over his scarred chest plate while he screws up his face.  “Nah, he’ll laugh me straight into the smelter with those.”  He skritches at his fore-helm while biting his tongue.  “Hey yeah!”  He pops up excitedly and smacks his head against the low ceiling.  A hand smacks over his mouth as he stares wide-eyed into the bar below.  “Phew.  No one heard that,” he mutters after a few moments of tenseness.  “I know the perfect line!”

Turning to go locate a spot to pounce without getting caught by Ultra Magnus, Drift runs smack into a bag of Energon goodies.  Skids had moved himself closer so he could scope out the situation below and watch the expression on Drift’s face, for the full effect of the entertainment of course.  They stare blankly at each other for a few moments.

“So…”

“Want some?”

“Wha?“

Skids shakes the bag he’s holding.  “Want some?”

“Y-yeah.  Okay thanks?”  Drift looks at the goodies in his hand before sneaking a glance at Skids who watches him quietly.  “So…”

“Two lefts, a single right, past two bulk heads straight then left, next to the thing that goes zotzotphew.”  Skids munches a few more goodies still staring at the white mech rather expectantly.

“Um…huh?”  Is the intelligent reply.

“To his quarters.”  He gives Drift a confused look.  “Aren’t you here for a pounce-cuddle-‘face with the medic who yells and throws stuff?”

Drift’s optics widen as his mouth unhinges for a moment.  He sputters but when it finally dawns on him, he snaps his trap shut.  “How do you know the way to Ratchet’s quarters?!”   Jealousy spikes through him.

A lifted shoulder is his answer.  “I know because I know.”  He chews some more goodies considering.  He peaks through the grate at the occupants below.  “Not the yeller, huh?  The trigger-happy one?  Hmm, Cyclonus is kinda protective of the little doe-eyed bot.  If you take two rights, you could go see Max.  Or…”

Smacking his fore-helm with a shake of his head, he clears his vents.  “That way, right?”

“Yup.”

As Drift starts to crawl off, Skids calls out to him.  “There was something else.”  The white mech turns back to the blue one.  “It was important.  Something about heat or energy not being good.  Swerve said it wasn’t any good and not to take it, but I wanted to try it.  That’s what’s important.”

Drift blinks at Skids.  He nods but cocks an optic ridge in question.

“Want me to let Ratchet know he should meet you?”

“What?!”  Drift scrubs at his face for a moment.  “No I want it to be…oh I don’t know…a surprise.”

“You sure that’s good for an old spark?”

“What do you—“

“Oh you should go.  The medic just left and looks tired.”   He gives Drift a big shit-eating grin before turning back to the bar below and shoving more goodies down is in-take.

Drift scrambles to follow Skids’ directions as best he can.  He even manages only to smack his head against the bulkheads and ceiling only fifteen times before he arrives.  Sliding it aside as quietly as possible, Drift slips inside the Chief Medical Officer’s hab-suite.  He brightens his optics and openly stares at what he finds.  A mischievous but happy smile touches his lips.  “Seems like I was missed after all,” he says with a small chuckle.  All of the physical possessions that Drift had been forced to leave behind sat scattered in neat little stacks around the hab-suite.

Making himself shamelessly at home on Ratchet’s berth, Drift faces the door in nervous anticipation.  He has come to two conclusions about what is going to happen.  Ratchet is either going to call for help, and he’ll end up spending the night in the brig; or Ratchet will pounce on him in happiness and they’ll spend the night wrapped around each other’s coding.  A flush of heat murmurs over Drift’s circuits as he pictures the medic laid out before him.  The berth shakes softly from the pleased rumble in the white mech’s engine, and something in Drift’s tanks gurgles a bit.

Drift snaps up sharply as quiet beeps reach his audio receptors.  The soft swish of the door opening is the only sound in the room as a tired looking Ratchet steps into the room.  A sharp intake of air has the medic pulling his laser rifle from his subspace before Ratchet can even think.  He levels a glare and barrel of the gun at the other being in what should have been an empty room.  Ratchet’s optical ridges race back to his helm.  Drift and Ratchet stare at each other.

“Kid…” is softly mumbled as the barrel of the laser gun lowers because Ratchet’s grip becomes soft from the shock racing through his emotion systems.

A quiver shiver passes through white plating as Drift perches on the very edge of the berth.  His mouth moves soundlessly and only little peeps of sound emerges.  Drift shakes his helm after a moment, but his expression is still one of wipe open expectation.  His vocalizer is soft as he final is able to boot it up.

“H-hey.  Shiny…Lost Light lost…hull right in the optics.”

Ratchet stare in confusion at Drift.  “Kid, what…”  He turns around to immediately shut the door and lock it.  He does not face Drift again as he growls.  “Are you out of your damned mind?!  What the hell are you doing here?!   Do you have any clue what Ultra Magnus…no what Rodimus is going to do if he sees you here?!”

Ratchet snaps around with confused wanting and anger in his optics.  He pauses in his demands as he takes in the scene before him.  Drift’s helm is bowed like a scolded child’s head.  He is looking at the medic from under the ridge of his helm as he pouts and taps his index fingers and thumbs together.

“But…but…”  Drift’s voice trembles.  “I missed you.”

Ratchet slaps a palm over his face with a heavy sigh.  He walks over toward the berth and a Drift who is flinching down to hide from such disapproving anger.  A hard stare meets the quivering expression.  Grabbing Drift’s arm, Ratchet yanks him up into a fierce hug; that after a moment or two is returned just as fiercely.

“You’re such a damn idiot.”  Static has entered Ratchet’s voice as he tries to pull Drift tighter against him.

“I know, but…”  Drift nuzzles against Ratchet’s neck making the other shiver slightly.  “I had to tell you that the Lost Light’s hull looked dull, but I found the shine in your optics.”

A pause, a moment of silence is quickly followed by a clang as Ratchet smacks Drift upside the back of his head.  Good naturedly Drift rubs the back of his helm with one hand while pulling at some wiring in the medic’s hip and snuggling closer with a sensuous rub along Ratchet’s body with his own.

“You’re hopeless, Kid.”

“Mmm, yeah.”

The pair sinks to the berth.  Circuits begin to dance with charge.  Heat streaks after the wandering fingers.  Steam coats plating in crystallized lust.  And-

FRWAAAA…pop-pop-pop-pop-gurgle…FRWAAA

“…”

…and the bad batch of energon goodies deals a heavy blow indeed.


End file.
